


Waiting Forever

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Scar Worship, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Top Eskel (The Witcher), Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24875161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: After waiting a decade before finally getting together with Geralt, Jaskier has never been happier. His life is perfect, he has his Witcher, the love of his life, he'd never ask for more.Until his first winter at Kaer Morhen, when he meets Eskel...
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 62
Kudos: 575
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	Waiting Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Araglas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araglas/gifts).



> This is a fill for a prompt from Araglas. The prompt is a little wordy but boils down to: after taking more than a decade to get together, during Jaskier's first winter at Kaer Morhen, he starts having feelings for Eskel as well. Eskel is Geralt's best friend, and he feels terrible for his wandering eye, but Jaskier is a man full of love, so who is Geralt to deny another Witcher in need.
> 
> I'm in a weird place right now because of computer problems (short version: broken fan, easy fix, replacement is a week late and it's stressing me out) so while I think I hit all the high notes in this, it has much less pining than the original prompt (sorry). I'm also working on a very large chaptered fic right now and needed something else to rest my brain on. And even though it's a fairly meaty prompt, I used a vignette format because I'm not good at transition scenes at the moment, and I'm lazy...
> 
> Please enjoy, and as always, let me know if you find a typo. I do accept prompts, though it may take me a while to get around to it.

1.

Jaskier shivered in Geralt's lap, his lips trembling as they kissed. Teeth he'd seen bite down on meat, bite down on words and smiles—and a monster's throat one one very memorable occasion—now nibbled at Jaskier's bottom lip, one firm hand curled around his waist, the other on his ass.

Jaskier pulled back. “What's happening right now? Is this happening right now? No, shut up, don't say anything. If this is a dream I don't want to ruin it.” He tried to kiss Geralt again only to have the Witcher pull back. Jaskier whined at the loss. “No, no, don't go away, we're having such a lovely time.”

“Yes.” A kiss to his cheek. “We are.” A nibble along his jaw. A long lick down his neck, making him tremble anew. “And we don't need to rush. We have all the time in the world.”

“ _You_ have all the time in the world. I've been waiting ten fucking years for this, Geralt, let me rush a little.” And it really had been ten years. Since the moment Jaskier laid eyes on him, before he clocked Geralt as a Witcher, he was in love. Sure, Jaskier fell in love with almost everyone he set eyes on, but those were the fleeting infatuations of a man in love with the world. When he met Geralt, everything inside of Jaskier shifted, pulling him towards the enigmatic soul he felt pouring out of the white haired stranger. He'd felt it before with other muses, people he knew were worth his time and more than just a good story, but no one held him longer than Geralt. He still hadn't let go, Jaskier's love only growing deeper and deeper as the years passed.

They were so close so many times. Geralt drunk after a ball Jaskier insisted they attend. He placed a hand on Jaskier's hip and shining eyes looked up at him. “You're beautiful,” Geralt said, almost slurring.

But the drunk could not consent and Jaskier was forced to pat him on the head, say, “Thank you, Geralt,” and pour him into bed. The next morning, Geralt claimed to remember none of it.

Another time, they were stopped by a lake. The most beautiful, shimmering blue lake he'd ever seen, the roar of a water fall a little off in the distance feeding the river that pooled there. Jaskier tried to jump in, only for Geralt's hand on his collar holding him back. “Let me check for leeches,” he said and stripped his own clothes.

Jaskier fell to the ground with an annoyed _harrumph_. “You just want the majestic fucking lake to yourself,” he grumbled.

Geralt ignored him and waded in. After swimming around for a moment (the water gliding over his muscles making Jaskier very uncomfortable indeed) he turned back to shore. “No leeches. Stay close to me in case any fish feel opportunistic about your cock.” _If only a particular Witcher were opportunistic about my cock_... Jaskier thought but did not say out loud. Geralt's hearing was too good.

He waded into the water, cold but tolerable, and sighed in pleasure. Too many days of walking, too much road dirt ground into his skin. Jaskier took a few long moments to splash around, cleaning the grime from his skin and dunking under to wash his hair before he turned his attention to Geralt. That might have been his first mistake.

Geralt had dunked under as well, and was now dripping. Though they were standing chest deep in the lake, a few valiant drops made their way over sculpted muscles, one lovely drop clung to bow lips that were far too plush for their own good. Jaskier licked his own lips and swam forward. He felt the heat pouring off Geralt, making the water around him a little warmer. So close, so very close...

Then Geralt pulled back and nodded towards the shore. “Forgot the soap.” The moment broken, Jaskier waited for him to return and they took turns using the last of their shitty ash soap, Geralt mumbling about getting more when they hit a town.

So many times, Jaskier remembered every almost kiss, each brush of the fingers that never went anywhere, and all it took tonight to break the decade of tension between him and Geralt tonight was their dinner arriving with only one set of utensils.

“You take the spoon,” Geralt insisted, then lifted the bowl of stew to his mouth and started drinking.

Geralt was already far too attractive for his own good. And it was all the fucking time—covered in monster guts, or his own blood, dirt from the road, smelling to high heaven—there was no state where Jaskier would turn down an invitation from him. So watching the smooth lines of his thick neck pulse and undulate as he swallowed down the thin stew really was too much for Jaskier.

Using his last thread of patience, he waited until Geralt was done with their meager meal. As soon as the bowl hit the table, his restraint disappeared and Jaskier climbed onto Geralt's lap, one hand curling behind his neck, the other licking up that delicious throat. _You've gone too far_ , the voice in his head whispered. _Fuck off,_ he replied.

Like a startled deer, Geralt froze, hands hovering above Jaskier's back, so close but not enough to touch. “Jaskier...”

“Please,” he whispered between licks and nibbles. “Please tell me you feel the same. I can't bear it a moment longer.”

A large hand settled on his hip and Jaskier shivered, lips pausing mid kiss. The other hand tipped his chin up, drawing their eyes together. “Yes,” Geralt said, voice low. “Yes, I feel the same.”

There were no more words after that, save Jaskier's small panic about their reality, just kissing and rumbling moans and Jaskier rutted against Geralt, cock hard and throbbing in his breeches. There'd be more words later, confessions and discussions of _why_ it took Geralt so very long to finally admit he wanted Jaskier. The bard was sure it would include some combination of “I never wanted to curse you to this life,” and “you deserve better than a Witcher,” to which Jaskier would reply “there is no one better than you.” But for now, Geralt let him kiss and kiss and get lost in those lips he spent a decade looking at and never tasting.

With a firm hand on his chest, Geralt broke the kiss again. Jaskier whined, which earned him an arched eyebrow. “Your stew is getting cold.”

“Fuck the stew.” Jaskier tried to recapture Geralt's lips, but the hand on his chest stayed firm.

“Eat. You'll need your strength.” Gold eyes shining with hunger looked Jaskier up and down, lingering on the not so slight bulge in his breeches. “I thought you might want to make up for lost time...”

While Jaskier agreed to eat his stew, he flatly refused to stop touching Geralt. Sitting across his lap, he wiggled and cooed at every opportunity, feeling the hard line of Geralt's cock under his ass. Hands on Jaskier's hips, Geralt pushed his nose into his neck, trailing it behind his ear and through his hair, creating all sorts of tingling distractions. “Don't think I don't see what you're doing...”

The moment Jaskier's one spoon hit the table, Geralt hauled him over to the bed. While Geralt was careful with Jaskier's much finer clothes, Jaskier had no qualms pulling and damn near ripping Geralt's tunic off of him. His clothes were designed to last longer, they could withstand a few hard tugs. Once he had those glorious muscles under his fingers, Jaskier was not letting go. Sinking his teeth into Geralt's neck, he resigned himself to never let Geralt go again.

Geralt produced oil from somewhere and wrapped a slick hand around Jaskier's cock. “Ugh, fuck,” he groaned. Strong hand gripping, pulling the most pathetic noises out of him... Jaskier was so lost in pleasure, he hardly noticed what else Geralt was getting up to until the hand disappeared and the bed shifted. His eyes flew open just in time to watch Geralt's tree trunk thighs straddle him, oil shining between his legs.

“Geralt, what—” A slick hand wrapped around his cock to steady him as Geralt slowly lowered himself into place. Jaskier had just enough thought left to latch onto Geralt's hips—more to have something to hold on to, because there was no way he could muster the coordination to lead this particular ride. “Geralt,” Jaskier gasped. “Oh yes, please...” Silky heat surrounded Jaskier's cock as strong thighs brushed against his sides. The smell of the oil, of Geralt above him, hair down and clean after a bath earlier in the night, it all surrounded Jaskier, drawing him in. Even though it was his cock inside Geralt, the strength of the Witcher above had him pinned. With a slow roll of his hips, Geralt spent the rest of the night taking Jaskier apart with long slow fucks and even longer kisses they waited far too many years to exchange.

He promised to follow this man until the end of his days when he was only eighteen, and he whispered that promise to himself again that night as Geralt slept next to him. _May I live a thousand years and never leave your side_.

2.

Jaskier had never been so excited, not after he won his first bardic competition, nor when he had sex for the first time. When Geralt invited him to winter at Kaer Morhen, he produced a deeply unmanly noise that set several nearby dogs howling.

The trek was hard—which Geralt warned him of—and still, Jaskier's happiness did not wane. “A chance to meet your family and see you happy and relaxed for perhaps the first time? No way I'm passing on that.”

Geralt told him a little of Kaer Morhen: the harsh reality of a youth spent training to be a warrior, the mutations and torment. Jaskier never liked to imagine Geralt in pain, even when he was there to see it most of the time, but some things one just needed to get off one's chest, so he listened and tried to keep his sadness at bay. The later stories were a bit better. With so few left, the keep was now their last true home, and they clung to each other out of fondness and love built over decades of brotherhood. Vesemir, their once harsh father, was allowed to truly care for them now as his sons, not warriors to be hardened for battle. “We still train,” Geralt said. “Have to keep our skills up. There's more... calm to it now. Winter is the only time we can truly rest.”

The idea of Geralt at peace for the first time filled Jaskier's heart almost to bursting. Geralt never slept easy. He noticed it years ago, not just after they started sharing a bed out of choice rather than necessity. He didn't toss or turn, but he stirred at every sound, got up a few times in the night to circle their camp before laying down again, always on alert. “It's how we're trained,” Geralt explained. “I get enough rest to keep myself sharp, but I need to be aware of my surroundings at all times.”

“That sounds horrible,” Jaskier said.

Geralt shrugged. “I'll rest in winter.” And boy, Jaskier couldn't wait to see that.

Though the last day of their climb left him more drained than ever, as soon as he saw the courtyard gates, a new energy filled Jaskier. He followed Geralt and Roach inside and the wind died away immediately, the first shelter the old keep provided them. While the scars of battle were obvious and Jaskier's heart ached at the sight of them, the smile on Geralt's face made it all worth it. So this was a Witcher at peace.

The moment they stepped through the main doors, Geralt's shoulders went slack, the last bit of tension from the year draining out of him. “Jaskier,” he said, voice so much softer than normal. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen.”

As a former student and sometimes lecturer at Oxenfurt, Jaskier was used to looking at the character of old buildings, seeing passed their flaws and finding beauty. The old masonry, delicate scroll work along crown molding that faded with time but still intricate and captivating. With one look, Kaer Morhen blew Oxenfurt out of the water. It wasn't the detail that shined—Kaer Morhen was a keep, not a palace, designed for necessity and function, not beauty—but oh, there was beauty in every scar Jaskier saw. A broken wall patched and patched again, different colors of brick stacked together to make an abstract mosaic on one side of the hall; a torn tapestry lovingly repaired with shining thread on the other.

Exhausted though he was, Jaskier moved closer to the tapestry, trying to find the story. As he walked further along the cloth, he started thinking out loud. “Geralt, you never told me there was such history here! Books are one thing, but this is art! Telling the story of...” Tapestries were for telling stories, but this one didn't have a narrative thread for Jaskier to pick up. There were several men on one side—dressed too frilly to be Witchers, sorcerers then?—and the mountain, of course. On top of the mountain was Kaer Morhen itself, and...

“It's the story of the first Witchers,” a new voice said. Jaskier looked up and found himself about to smack directly into another Witcher.

Standing at the other end of the front hall, this Witcher had dark hair, some of it falling into his eyes. A twist of scars covered one side of his face, but the smile across his lips was a bigger distraction. Like Geralt's true winter smile, it lit up his face, wide and bright, eyes gleaming with mirth. Broad shoulders sat atop a very solid frame and Jaskier had to bite his lip. Take away the scars and change the hair, and this Witcher was the very spit of Geralt. They could be brothers. Did Geralt have a brother? Brothers in arms surly, but this man might be flesh and blood kin. Geralt never mentioned anyone like that.

Jaskier managed to put his tongue back into his mouth. “Uh, sorry?”

The Witcher smiled and very patiently led him back to the beginning of the tapestry, pointing out the story Jaskier was too blind to see. “These men, the first sorcerers who wanted to mutate humans to fight the monsters of the world, they secluded themselves to work on their formulas. Once they had it, training started and Kaer Morhen was built.” Jaskier's eyes trailed up the mountain on the tapestry, following the Witcher's hand. “Here, we see them distributing their formulas to others, spreading their knowledge. And at the back,” three lone figures stood at the gates of the castle, two sword hilts over their shoulders, “we have the first class of Witchers, ready to flow out over the Continent.”

“And protect it,” Geralt said, stepping up behind Jaskier and placing a hand lightly on his hip. “Back when they wanted us. Jaskier, meet Eskel.”

Jaskier swallowed, trying to make his voice work. Standing between two gorgeous Witchers, he was having a little trouble at the moment. “How do you do.”

Eskel nodded. “Well, thank you. And welcome to Kaer Morhen.” Eskel stepped away and held out his arms for Geralt. Wrapping around each other, they hugged so tight, Jaskier felt his shoulder pop.

With Geralt still in his armor and traveling gear, Eskel wearing a bright red tunic, the similarities started to fade away a little. Eskel's warmer coloring was like the sun, while Geralt's pallor always reminded Jaskier of the moon; he was prone to waxing poetically about it now more than ever and Geralt usually gave him a little shove, then pounced, silencing him with kisses. _Still_ , the unhelpful voice at the back of his mind whispered, _they do look a sight together. Imagine both wrapped up—_ He cut off those thoughts right there and shifted his pack in front of his hips to cover anything that might arise.

Geralt finally broke away from Eskel and smiled at Jaskier. He'd seen Geralt smile more in the last five minutes than he had in the last five years. He could definitely get used to this. “Eskel knows a lot about the history of the castle, he'll talk your ear off about all the portraits if you let him.”

“You say that like it isn't exactly what I want.” No, he was not excited for Eskel (wide shoulders, bright eyes, square jaw, achingly handsome just like Geralt...) he was excited for all the history and art he was going to see and learn this winter. Geralt, the bastard who had been in half the historical battles for the last fifty years, was too stingy with details. Finally, a Witcher after his own heart... but not really. Jaskier's heart was well set.

Eskel shrugged. “I'll give you any tour you like. Vesemir definitely knows more, but he doesn't like walking some parts of the keep. Too many memories.” With that, Eskel bid them farewell and Geralt showed Jaskier upstairs to his room.

Away from the new Witcher, Jaskier's eyes focused on Geralt again (where they should always be) and saw more signs of happiness. Relaxed shoulders, a small smile at the edge of his lips, taking deep breaths to get the smell of his home in his lungs again. “I could get used to happy Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. He received a nudge to his elbow in reply.

They put their things away in Geralt's room and took a while to relax. Relaxing turned into kissing, which turned into fucking, and before Jaskier knew it they were late for dinner. “I'll grab us plates later,” Geralt mumbled, pressing kisses up Jaskier's neck as their seed dried on his belly.

“Oh no, no way I'm missing a hot dinner after days of trail rations.” Jaskier let Geralt kiss him for a few more minutes before pushing them both out of bed. He got dressed and smiled when he realized what else winter meant—no armor. No hugs where Jaskier was likely to get scratched by a stray buckle, no quelling the urge to mash himself against that strong back for fear of getting gored by a sword hilt. Only layers of cloth between him and Geralt's amazing body.

He met Vesemir and Lambert down at dinner and everything was lovely and all that, but whenever Eskel spoke, Jaskier couldn't help but lean towards him. That same pull he felt towards Geralt now pulled inside him again. Eskel's voice had a similar character to Geralt's, rough and low, but pleasing all the same, like water over jagged rocks—a little frothy but not without its moments of smoothness—and Jaskier was entranced. Geralt sat between them, and Jaskier couldn't help but look at their hands together on the table... the same hands, strong and scared, but secure. The more he watched, the more and more their similarities returned.

In bed that night, as Geralt thrust inside him, trailing love bites down Jaskier's neck, he tried to concentrate. Concentration during sex wasn't his usual thing, Jaskier loved floating on the waves of bliss built up after ten years of longing, but tonight he needed to school his mind. White hair fanned across his neck, not brown. Moon pale skin slid against his, not honey warmed by the sun... Geralt had all his love, Eskel was... just a crush.

Yes, a pretty new face in front of Jaskier. It's how he used to go through the world, loving every fresh face as soon as he saw one. Geralt wasn't just a crush, Geralt was forever. They had all winter to get used to each other and Jaskier was sure, as soon as he accidentally walked in on Eskel in the privy, or covered in dirt and reeking like day old garbage, the shine would be gone. Yes, just a crush, nothing more.

3.

“Tell me about Eskel,” Jaskier said. Geralt showed Jaskier the library a few days ago and now waited patiently as Jaskier stacked more books into his arms. Geralt wasn't as entranced with the library after all these years, he'd read most of these same books already, and with a Witcher's need for quick memorization, he knew most of the information by heart. But he'd let Jaskier enjoy and explore as he liked. “You call him your brother. There's a striking resemblance, I must say.”

“Not a brother like that,” Geralt said. “Bothers in arms, technically.”

“Ah, I thought so.”

“But...” Jaskier stopped half way down the ladder and stared at Geralt. He didn't dare move and interrupt whatever answer might follow. Geralt didn't elaborate on his feelings, once he answered a question, he was done until he heard a follow up question. Jaskier was used to asking many follow ups to get any tiny crumb of information. Volunteering it like this was... new.

Geralt took a breath, composing his words. “Eskel is my oldest friend. My best friend. We met in training and he was... different. All the other boys were afraid. Not him. I didn't want to get attached or make friends, but Eskel was always there. He was one of the only boys to survive as long as I did.” He looked up at Jaskier, that small smile in place. “I didn't recognize that friendship for what it was until I met you, and I thank you for showing me how important Eskel is in my life.” He shifted the stack of books into one arm, holding the other out to help Jaskier down the ladder. “Is this it or do you need more?”

Jaskier shook himself and climbed down, Geralt's hand warm in his. “That's it for now.”

They walked back to the bedroom with Jaskier's stack of books to read away the quiet winter day. With Geralt's hand still wrapped around his, a small thread of panic spread through Jaskier's stomach.

_Fuck. I have a crush on his best friend. I'm going to hell._

4.

Before Geralt, Jaskier led an adventurous life of sorts. Not so much with the monster hunting, but there was plenty of court intrigue and possible poisonings. And sex. Loads and loads of sex. Two people, three people, five people, at least two orgies he remembered (probably a few more he didn't) but no matter the combinations he'd been in, Jaskier was always totally focused on his partner at the moment. One partner, especially someone as special and dazzling as Geralt, was more than enough for him.

Well he needed to stop _that_ kind of thinking right the fuck now. Eskel wasn't even on offer, and if he was, Jaskier couldn't take said offer. He was with Geralt, after years and literal years of waiting and pining, he had what he desired most—the love and devotion to and from the most amazing Witcher on the continent. Jaskier was happy, he was so happy, he couldn't let a little crush ruin all that.

But Geralt noticed, he must have. While he was at his most relaxed, Jaskier was at his most stressed, leaning in closer to Geralt whenever Eskel came near, sitting almost in his lap at dinner. He wasn't subtle about it.

A tremor of pleasure ran through his stomach as Geralt brushed the beginnings of his winter beard over Jaskier's skin. Ignoring his hard cock for a moment, they were both enjoying the sensual touches they never got when staying at an inn. Geralt was on too high alert like that, he could never relax his guard enough to spend half an hour touching and licking every part of Jaskier.

For his part, Jaskier was little more than a puddle on the bed. He managed to stop thinking about his inappropriate crush for five seconds and settled in to enjoy Geralt making a full meal of his body tonight. Lips passed over his hip, warm breath ghosting across his skin. “You're happy here, right?” Geralt asked.

It took a moment to come out of the fog of desire, but Jaskier opened his eyes and looked down. Yellow eyes peered back at him, white hair cascading across his hips, head pillowed on his stomach like it was the most natural place for it. The big scary Witcher, made soft by this human... Jaskier reached down and stroked along Geralt's cheek. “Yes, of course I'm happy. I'm with you. Why wouldn't I be happy?”

Geralt shrugged and continued kissing. “Your smell... sometimes, you're anxious. I can't figure out why. Unless you're unhappy with us.”

“No.” Jaskier stopped Geralt's movements and turned his chin up, locking their eyes together. “I am very happy here, please don't think I'd be anything but happy. I'm simply used to... more.” That sounded wrong. “During the winter. When I winter at Oxenfurt or in court, there's always concerts to attend, balls, things to do. I feel dreadfully lazy here reading half the library while you all train in the morning.”

True. Jaskier did feel a bit more useless than normal. Part of him thought his inactivity gave his mind more time to wander places it shouldn't ought to. Yes, he had chores—no one stayed in Vesemir's keep without working—but feeding the animals, organizing the library and sweeping the halls weren't too taxing. He wasn't about to volunteer to help them with repairs or clean out the griffin nest from the high towers, and he and Geralt could only fuck so many times in a day. “I'll get used to it,” he said. “Sometimes it takes me longer to settle in.”

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “I don't know about balls, but Vesemir and Eskel appreciate music. Lambert tolerates it. You can play for us after dinner, if that will make you feel like you have something to do.”

He was trying so very hard. Who was Jaskier to cast aside this generous offer? Running his fingers down Geralt's cheek again, he nodded. “I'd like that. How old is Vesemir? I think I might know some songs that were popular when he was young.” Maybe.

All talk of concerts and old songs quickly dissipated when Geralt turned his attention back to Jaskier's body. His erection flagged a little during their discussion, but a few teasing licks had it in perfect condition again. Perfect for Geralt to slip into his mouth while Jaskier's fingers tangled in his hair, not forcing or pushing him down, simply holding, appreciating their closeness.

Geralt found many off color uses for the mutations over the years, like a Witcher's ability to hold their breath far longer than necessary. They had a potion to extend that time even more—Killer Whale—but he never had to use it, his lung capacity was more than sufficient. So when Geralt took one last breath before swallowing Jaskier deep into his throat, he knew he'd be there until Jaskier came or he died trying.

Fingers tightened in his hair and Jaskier's moans went up in pitch. “Fuck Geralt, is that—” Whatever he wanted to ask was lost in a deep moan as Geralt's swallowed around him, the muscles of his throat gripping the head of Jaskier's cock.

He pulled back just in time to taste Jaskier come across his tongue, swallowing each gush as it came. Jaskier sunk deeper into the bed, now completely boneless, his eyes half closed. “Fuck,” he sighed. “That was...” He flapped a hand at Geralt as he stood up to kneel on the bed, hand lightly stroking his cock. “I'll tend to you, promise, I need a moment...”

“You're fine.” Long, languid strokes from root to tip, Geralt let his eyes feast on Jaskier's body the way his hands and mouth just had. Wide shoulders led down to narrower hips, a surprisingly solid frame Jaskier hid under colorful and slimming clothes. You wouldn't know it to look at him, but his muscles were strong from walking the Continent and toting around his own bags and lute. A solid body Geralt loved to fuck into and feel the slap of firm muscle. Add in the thick chest hair, Jaskier was as manly as they came, fuck knew he hid it well.

Strokes speeding up, Geralt tossed his hair back so it didn't fall into his face, he wanted to enjoy every last pulse of his come drenching Jaskier's chest... A hard squeeze and he came, pumping rope after rope across Jaskier. Some sank into the thick hair, mingling with Jaskier's natural smell. “Fuck...” Geralt shivered as the last wave of his orgasm petered out, the smell of them both mixing in the air. He collected himself enough to bend down and lick the come away. Jaskier shivered, hands flying to Geralt's shoulders to get ready for another round with the ravenous Witcher.

At the end of it, they were both sticky and covered in fluids, but very satisfied indeed.

5.

Eskel was having a rough winter, and it didn't look like it was going to get better anytime soon. Jaskier... he'd heard Geralt bitch and moan and tell stories about his bard for years. At first, he thought he was just another one of the humans Geralt attracted—shiny, a little dumb, and gone after a few years. When the decade turned and he heard of the change in their relationship, he was happy that his brother found someone more permanent. When he brought the bard to Kaer Morhen, things got... complicated.

Jaskier wasn't just kind and understanding of the harsh life Witchers led, he was intelligent, funny, read all the same great masters Eskel liked, and not to mention he was fucking gorgeous. Sparkling blue eyes and the longest eyelashes Eskel had ever seen on a man, that such a beauty could see past Geralt's rough exterior and offer love was amazing. Add in the fact that the first thing he did after entering Kaer Morhen was examine their dusty old tapestry, one might think he had an eye for seeing past the grit of life and finding the diamond in the rough. When Geralt introduced Eskel, Jaskier didn't once mention or look at his scars. He couldn't remember how long it had been since that happened.

At dinner, as they settled in and talked and laughed, Eskel felt himself getting a little warm... It all hit him that night when he wrapped a hand around his cock and saw blue eyes and soft lips in his mind. Fuck. He was lusting after Geralt's bard and that was not a good thing.

It got worse as winter continued. Jaskier was just too nice, too kind and loving, no wonder he was attracted to Geralt, the golden child of Kaer Morhen. The smallest blessing visited upon Eskel was that he hadn't heard Jaskier sing, not really. Practicing up in Geralt's room or in the library, his voice dulled by several layers of stone and only playing snippets of songs, he never really let loose. If there was one thing Eskel couldn't resist, it was a beautiful bard plying their craft with all the joyous abandon on the Continent.

He'd attended several concerts and festivals over the years, always with a cloak drawn over his unsightly face, and followed the melodies that spoke to his heart. Most times, it ended with him having a lonely wank in his camp, or sometimes, an adventurous bard dragged him back to their room and he let them have their way with him, give them their next ballad about bedding a Witcher.

None of those bards looked at Eskel the way Jaskier did, like he was truly listening. He hung on Eskel's every word, debating with him on the old masters no one else cared about, listening to his praise and critique of the bard's songs, thanking Eskel for his suggestions... Only Geralt really paid attention like that, and that was borne after several lifetimes of friendship, a friendship Eskel put at risk every time Jaskier's beautiful face swam behind his eyes when he was alone in his room.

Thank fuck he hadn't heard the bard sing yet. One note from that full voice bouncing off the stones of the dining hall and Eskel would probably explode.

“Jaskier wants to play for us,” Geralt said one morning after training. “He's used to concerts and balls at court in winter, he feels lazy.”

Lambert groaned. “Ugh, I thought him playing in your room was bad enough.”

This earned him a swift slap to the back of the head from Vesemir. “Music will be fine. I'm surprised it took him this long to ask. After dinner?”

Lambert perked up. “Might be nice to have a little music when I'm beating Eskel at Gwent—”

“Cheating at Gwent,” Eskel growled.

“Does he know any dirty songs?” Lambert asked, following Geralt out of the courtyard, Eskel quietly sulking behind.

“Probably. I'll ask.”

Geralt and Lambert chattered away, ignoring Eskel close behind them. He was surprised they didn't hear the trouble he had regulating his heart at the moment. Jaskier, sitting in their dining hall, singing, playing his lute for their pleasure. Eskel didn't think he could take it.

He spent the rest of the day fretting, which was more or less in his nature, so no one took too much notice. He was a very cautious Witcher, he liked studying his plans and approaches from every angle before making a decision. Except when it came to lusting after his brother's bard, it seemed. When it came to Jaskier, he was completely a drift as to how to make his feelings stop.

Dinner came, there was lovely, sparkling conversation from Jaskier (like usual) and Eskel tried to walk the fine line between polite and suspiciously attentive. He tried not to look at the lute sitting at the end of the bench.

When plates were licked clean and Vesemir pulled out the good wine, Lambert retrieved his cards, and Jaskier reached for his lute. Eskel tried to concentrate on Lambert, not think about the way Jaskier's eyes lit up the moment he touched his lute, the tension disappearing from his entire body. After a quick look towards Geralt, he climbed up on the table and sat, strumming once or twice to make everything was tuned properly.

Eskel held his breath as Jaskier started on the first song. “Many roads I have traveled, many creatures I have seen, yet none is so fine, so fair, as the maids of the sea...”

As Jaskier sang of mermaids—usually too green to be conventionally attractive to humans—Eskel's heart sank a bit more, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself in check. Jaskier had the voice of an angel and played the lute like he sold his soul for it. And he wasn't even going full out. Eskel heard it, he was probably saving the truly powerful notes for his big finish. He could just imagine it, that full, rich voice bouncing off the old stones of the dining hall. As soon as he heard it, Eskel would want nothing more than to grab the bard, crushing their lips together, making more of those noises, but for him instead...

In that moment, Eskel's problems got so much worse. He wasn't merely lusting after Geralt's bard, he was in love with him.

He couldn't stay for the rest, not if he wanted to keep his sanity intact. He stayed for two more songs (two heart wrenchingly beautiful ballads about the coast, was Jaskier from the coast? the way he sang of it...) until Lambert shouted, “Do a sexy one now!”

The glint in Jaskier's eye was Eskel's cue to leave. “I fold,” he told Lambert and pushed the cards back towards him.

Lambert arched an eyebrow. “You sure? You were actually doing well that round.”

“Yes, I'm tired.” He nodded to Vesemir and Geralt, then to Jaskier. Too focused on the song—something about the ladies of Toussaint and their braided pubic hair, Lambert found it very funny—Jaskier's eyes merely followed him out of the room.

Up in his bed, Eskel tried not to think about Jaskier, and failed. He came biting down on his knuckles to contain any inappropriate noises.

After that, Eskel started avoiding Geralt. It cut him up inside, Geralt was the closest thing Eskel had to a real brother, not just a brother in arms, but Jaskier was never far away, and he couldn't risk Geralt smelling his attraction and putting two and two together. Surprised it hadn't happened already. He started hanging out with Lambert, for fuck's sake.

Eskel enjoyed his youngest brother's company, but a little Lambert went a long way. The first day, Lambert was suspicious, but said nothing. They went to sweep the caves for any opportunistic beasts, then Eskel followed him to check his still. By the second day, where Eskel watched him sort through his Gwent cards for an hour without complaint, Lambert finally spoke up.

“So you're in love with Geralt's bard,” he said, placing an archer with a few others. Eskel opened his mouth to argue but Lambert was faster. “Don't try to deny it. The only reason Geralt hasn't noticed you stink of love is because he does too. Why else would you want to hang out with me before dinner?”

Turning his attention away from his cards, Lambert shifted into his rarely seen “helpful” mode. “I know you two have a bond, brothers in battle, most trusted and all that—and that's probably why you're gaga for the bard. You and Geralt are annoyingly similar.” Lambert did not mention their shared difficulties with the Law of Surprise, which Eskel appreciated. “Of course you're attracted to the same kind of person. Did you two ever share... at a brothel? It wouldn't be so different.”

Eskel's mind caught up with that sentence and leaned away. “What? No, I mean, we did. Once...”

He didn't continue but Lambert fucking did. “Right, so think of it like that.”

“Jaskier's not a whore,” Eskel spat, then immediately regretted how loud he got.

Lambert waved his concern away. “Relax, they're not listening right now.” Eskel didn't want to think about how he knew that. He tried to keep his ears away from Geralt's room of late. “If you don't like that idea, fine. Have you thought about the three of you? Surly, you and Geralt must have—”

“No,” Eskel cut him off. “We were never—we're friends, not—we're not like you. I don't fuck every Witcher I can find.” Eskel regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. “I'm sorry.”

Lambert's face fell and he leaned away. “You know, no one from my class survived. My best friend from training fucking died. So if I busy myself with other schools, that's my business. If you remember, I've never kicked you out of my bed when you come calling.”

Eskel hung his head. “I'm sorry. I don't know what to do and I'm taking it out on you. That's not fair of me.”

“Yeah, well, stop it.” Lambert shrugged off the apology like he did any other display of emotion. “All I'm saying is, there are ways around this. You don't need to spend all winter sulking. Talk to Geralt at least.” With that, Lambert packed up his cards and left Eskel to stew in his thoughts.

Once upon a time, he and Geralt shared everything, but did that include a lover?

6.

“Can we talk?” Geralt looked up and saw Eskel hovering outside the stables. He only popped out here to check on Roach, make sure her water hadn't frozen over.

“Sure.” He moved aside, letting Eskel through to Scorpion's stall. But Eskel didn't move, he stood in the door to the stables, shoulders tight. Geralt shifted his attention away from Roach for the moment and focused on Eskel. “Is everything alright?”

Eskel dropped his eyes away from Geralt's. “I don't... I don't know how to say this. Jaskier...”

Immediately tense, Geralt surged forward, close enough to touch Eskel. Close enough to punch him. “What about Jaskier? Is he alright? I thought he was in the library with Vesemir.”

“He's fine.” Eskel took a step back, out of swinging range. He didn't know if Geralt would try to attack him for this, he might deserve it. “This isn't about... Well, it's about me. I think.”

Geralt's worry for Jaskier melted away, morphing into a worry for his brother. Eskel didn't trip over his words like this, he thought about them too damn much before opening his mouth. Geralt placed a hand on his shoulder for comfort and was surprised again when Eskel twitched under his fingers. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. How much have we been through together? You think I'd turn you away now?”

“You might.” Eskel took one last deep breath and lifted his head, looking Geralt square in the eye. “I think I'm in love with Jaskier.”

Geralt said nothing. He didn't move. He didn't speak. His shoulder didn't cock back to deck Eskel. He didn't do anything... for far too long. Finally, when Eskel was about to say it again (maybe he didn't hear) Geralt spoke. “Why do you tell me this?” There was no anger in his voice, which was almost worse.

“I don't want to keep it from you any longer. Surely you see how I look at him? I've tried not to think about him, but...” Eskel squeezed his eyes shut and it all came pouring out. “He talks to me like I'm a person, not some misshapen monster. He hasn't stared at my scars once. He's beautiful—as you already know—and can speak on poetry with me for hours.

“I know it's not right, but I didn't want to hold this inside of me anymore.” Eskel let his shame get the better of him and pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes, blocking his face. “I'm not telling you because I wish to act on it, I merely don't want there to be any secrets between us. You are my dearest friend and I hate the idea that my thoughts might hurt you.”

Once again, Geralt said nothing. His eyes still stared at Eskel, but he was more looking past him, lost in thought. Thoughts of Jaskier's eyes lighting up as Eskel explained the tapestry, listening to him gush about all the paintings Eskel showed him... on and on, so many little things that never made sense until he looked at them as a whole picture.

“Geralt, please say something. I beg of you.”

Geralt shook his head. “I am a fool. It took me a decade to see his love for me and almost half a winter to recognize it again.”

“What?” Eskel shook his head, mouth gaping like a fish. “No, I have no intentions. I simply didn't want to keep it from you, it didn't feel right.”

He held up a hand to stop the torrent of panic pouring from Eskel. “Have you known me to be a jealous man?”

“No. But I have known you to completely step away from a lover if you feel there is competition for their affections. I don't want that either.”

“What do you want?”

Eskel opened his mouth and no words came out for a moment. “I'm not sure. I didn't want to feel like I was lying to you, we've been friends too long for that.” He pressed his lips together and Geralt waited. Eskel was right, they were friends, and he deserved to be heard. Geralt might be a novice when it came to matters of the heart, but he knew how he felt about Eskel, and how he felt about Jaskier—he loved them both, if in very different ways.

Dropping his eyes, Eskel sighed. “I talked to Lambert.”

Geralt laughed, the sudden mirth surprising them both. “You went to Lambert? You must be twisted over this.” That earned a small smile and the tension in Geralt's chest started to ease. “What did he say?”

“He asked if we ever shared at a brothel.”

Geralt scowled at the implication that Jaskier had anything in common with a whore (though he was unfairly good with his tongue...) but he pushed past that thought onto the next. Yes, he and Eskel had shared before.

It was early days, their trails crossed, and while Witchers weren't supposed to meet up in the field, it was good to see a brother again after a shit year of shit monsters and shittier mayors who didn't want to pay for them. The local brothel was the only drinking establishment in town brave enough to host two Witchers and they intended to spend the night drinking and swapping stories before heading their separate ways again.

A young woman with chestnut brown hair sauntered over to them, placing her foot on Geralt's chair between his spread legs, the pointed tip of her shoe almost brushing his crotch. “Looking for some company? I bet I'm the only girl here who'd take a Witcher, an' I just had an' opening tonight. Interested?”

Eskel's eyes found his and he arched an eyebrow in question. Did they have enough coin for this? Most whores charged extra for a Witcher, two might be expensive for them...

The woman leaned down and brushed her red lips against Geralt's ear. “Your friend can watch, if you like.”

“That won't be necessary.”

Geralt went first, Eskel waiting outside the door for his turn. They parted in the morning with a hug and a promise to see each other that winter. The story of the night they shared at a brothel became just that, one of their stories.

“I remember that,” Geralt whispered.

“Yes, she still tasted like you. I could smell you on her skin. It was... I enjoyed the familiarity of it,” Eskel said. True, while Geralt never took up with his brothers—not outside of youthful trysts—others did find comfort together, Lambert definitely did. It was as necessary for some who were too tired of humanity to find even the smallest comfort in the brothels of the world, they turned to each other in winter.

Geralt chose his next words carefully, he did not want to lead Eskel on. “I'm not saying anything right now. Give me a few days. To think.”

Eskel nodded. “Of course.” Retreating from the stable door, he let Geralt pass, their shoulder brushing together in a quick show of affection. _No hard feelings_.

Geralt made his way back into the castle, his mind heavy with thoughts of Jaskier wrapped up in Eskel's arms instead of his own. A pang in his chest made him want to push the visions away, but Geralt kept searching, continued to look. Eskel was his dearest friend, he didn't like seeing him in pain. And Jaskier, the sweet man who was also hard as steel, soft when he wanted to be, vicious when it was demanded of him. He spent a decade watching every single facet of Jaskier's personality, and one constant remained: Jaskier offered love to whomever needed it, whether it was soothing a small child while Geralt went to look for their missing sibling in the woods, or giving their last crust of bread to a beggar.

Jaskier was never guarded with his love, he gave it openly and freely. All his life, Geralt shared everything with his brothers—food, coin, clothing if necessary—and now he had a man who was just as generous with his heart.

As he promised, he took a few days to mull it over. With Jaskier sleeping soundly pressed against his chest, he listened to his heart beat, that too strong heart, so filled with love... He didn't avoid Eskel, he went about his days like normal, but he started paying attention.

The way Jaskier leaned in when Eskel spoke to him, how his fingers brushed over the table. He'd seen that before, back when Jaskier silently pined for him and Geralt was too stupid to notice: whenever Jaskier wanted to touch, but didn't want to endanger their friendship, he petted the nearest surface to satisfy his need to touch and hold. When Eskel told stories of his adventures training with Geralt, Jaskier leaned into him, wrapping his arm around Geralt's arm and lightly stroking fingers up and down his thigh. With his attention on Eskel, but his hands on Geralt, a few things... clarified.

Two days after Eskel talked to him in the stables, Geralt sat in bed with Jaskier wrapped around him, creamy skin pressed against his side, warm breath on his neck.

“How do you feel about Eskel?”

7.

Jaskier vibrated against Geralt's chest, shaking for so many reasons. His body was constantly at war with itself—he didn't know what to feel. Sad that Geralt found out about his crush and might be hurt by it, excited that he didn't seem to be too bothered, or fucking terrified that he was now standing in a room with both Eskel and Geralt, all of them very clear on the reason why.

“I don't know where to start,” Jaskier whispered.

“Why don't we sit?” The chose the library as neutral territory—couches and chairs instead of the pressure of a bed—and Eskel shifted over on the couch, making room for Geralt and Jaskier.

Geralt pushed them along, settling on the couch. Jaskier half crawled into his lap, but his eyes were on Eskel. “I still don't know where to start,” Jaskier said, feeling rather stupid. Once again: he'd been around the block. One man in his bed, two men in his bed, he'd done that before. But two _Witchers_ , that seemed to be the difference there, not to mention to brothers, or as close as brothers.

“I'll begin.” Geralt rubbed a hand up and down Jaskier's spine, the solid touch grounding him. “I sat with my thoughts for a few days. I sat with my desire for Jaskier for far longer, and I didn't know it. I know what it's like to have your... your love.” Jaskier couldn't help his smile, Geralt was still shy around that word, such a new feeling, but one that he more than deserved. “If I were to share your love with anyone, it would be Eskel. If that's what you desire.” Yellow eyes met blue, and Geralt trailed a few chaste kisses up Jaskier's arm, the heat of his lips radiating through his shirt.

“Do you? Desire?” Eskel said, voice barely a whisper.

Two sets of golden eyes focused on Jaskier and the heat of it crept up his throat. “Yes. I think I do.”

Jaskier shed his tears the day before, when Geralt asked him point blank: “How do you feel about Eskel?”

The whole guilty secret spilled out of him. “He reminds me of you. He feels like you—the way I'm drawn to him. It's how I feel around you, this pull, of destiny and heroics and, fuck, Geralt, I'm so sorry. He's your best friend and I—”

Geralt silenced him with a kiss, then traced a few tears with his tongue before pressing their foreheads together. “I am not a jealous man. We can... talk. About it.” He kissed Jaskier again, soft, slow. “I won't keep you from another.”

“I don't want another,” Jaskier only half lied. He didn't want any other man, any random person off the street, he wanted Geralt and the Witcher who seemed to be the other part of Geralt—the sun to his moon. He said all this without words, kissing down Geralt's throat even as tears continued to flow. Geralt kissed those away too.

“Let's talk. Tomorrow.”

And so, tomorrow it was. And here they were, sitting on the library couch, Eskel leaning in, Geralt warm at his back... One hand on Geralt's arm to steady himself, Jaskier leaned forward, his lips a breath away from Eskel's.

Eskel closed the small distance and they both gasped. Though he was still half on Geralt's lap, Jaskier's fear and anxiety vanished. A bubble of warmth burst inside his chest and he leaned forward a little farther, parting his lips and pressing his tongue inside Eskel's mouth. The other Witcher sighed, opening his mouth and letting Jaskier in.

Geralt rested his head on Jaskier's back, listening to the beat of his heart. He listened to Jaskier's heart often, when the man slept, when he sang, when they kissed or fucked. It had the same frantic tempo now as it did when they kissed. Geralt didn't know much about love, but he knew what it sounded like—the rapid thump-thump-thump-thump of Jaskier's heart. To hear Jaskier's love focused on Eskel while the bard happily sat in his arms... well, there were better things in this world, but Geralt had a hard time thinking of any at this moment.

8.

They did it in Geralt's room. Jaskier was more comfortable there.

In the library a few days before, Jaskier and Eskel talked some more, Geralt never far away. “I don't want to feel like I'm going behind your back,” Jaskier said, expressing his wish for Geralt to stay with them when he offered privacy.

When he climbed into Eskel's lap and started licking and biting up his throat, blue eyes flicked to Geralt every once in a while, love and happiness radiating out. Any jealousy he thought might come after seeing Eskel with Jaskier never appeared, and Geralt sat happily, barely watching as Eskel fell apart under Jaskier's talented lips.

A sharp inhale had Geralt on his feet, looking for whatever might disturb them. Instead, he found Jaskier kissing up the side of Eskel's face, lavishing attention on his scars. Jaskier had done the same for him and he remembered the pleasing brushes of soft lips against ruined and sensitive tissue. Eskel's issues were another reason why Geralt decided he wanted to share Jaskier's love. All Witchers thought themselves broken and unlovable things, and none more so than Eskel. If anyone could show him what horse shit that was, it was Jaskier.

They spent a few days together, all three of them going about their normal lives. Jaskier spread across a sofa in the library, playing with Geralt's hair as Eskel read nearby, occasionally leaning over to snatch a kiss. At dinner, they had the same deep conversations as always, but Jaskier no longer hid his want to lean in and devour Eskel's words. In those few days, Geralt was never far, he even participated in some of their discussions before the subject matter (pre-romantic poetry from the 830s, what did that even mean?) went over his head. After almost a week in each other's company, Geralt was sure, this was no infatuation. That's when he suggested his room.

“Do you want me to leave?” Geralt asked, stepping back towards the door when Jaskier's fingers started tugging at the laces of Eskel's tunic.

Panic flashed across his face. “What? Fucking no. I don't want you waiting in the hall like a naughty school boy.” Jittery fingers smoothed over Geralt's shirt, playing with a loose string to have something to do. “Sit, please. You don't have to watch... I don't want you to leave, either.” That's what they agreed on. Neither Eskel nor Geralt wanted to be together, but Jaskier wanted them both there. It was a tricky matter to balance and Geralt agreed to stay in the room. Whatever made Jaskier comfortable.

With a last kiss, Jaskier pushed him down into the arm chair by the fire before returning to Eskel. His shirt half open, Jaskier took care of the rest, running his fingers over scarred skin with all the reverence he showed for a sacred text. “You're both beautiful,” he whispered, dipping forward to kiss up the scar crossing Eskel's chest.

“Pretty words.” Eskel leaned back and gave him more room even as he deflected the compliment.

Jaskier didn't hold with that sort of thing. “Pretty Witcher,” he said, then got to work on Eskel's breeches.

Geralt tried to keep his eyes on Jaskier. He had no desire to intrude on Eskel's modesty, and watching Jaskier work truly was a sight to behold. The way his nimble fingers, strong from all his playing, but quick too, found every dip and bump on Eskel's skin, following them down, leaving trails of pleasing fire behind. Geralt's gaze flicked up to Eskel's face more than once, and each time, he saw the open enjoyment there. Lips parted, eyes soft, leaning back and accepting the pleasure Jaskier offered. It's how he felt every time Jaskier touched him.

Once he had them both naked, Jaskier pulled Eskel onto the bed, still kissing each new scar he found. He had no delusions about finding them all, he discovered new ones on Geralt all the time. Climbing onto Eskel's lap, he spent a long moment kissing him, sucking that hot tongue into his mouth and treating his lips like the most delicious feast. A hard cock—as large and imposing as Geralt's—brushed Jaskier's stomach, a bead of precome drooling onto his skin.

“You Witchers,” Jaskier mumbled between kisses, licking down Eskel's throat and leaving small love bites. “You're all so quiet in bed. Unbelievable.”

“You want noise?” Eskel asked. Before Jaskier knew what was happening, Eskel wrapped an arm around his waist and lifted. For one harrowing second, Jaskier didn't feel the bed under him as he fell through the air. But Eskel had him held firm. On his side now, Eskel spooned up behind him, nipping down Jaskier's neck. “I can make you sing, little bard, will that be enough noise for you?”

Turned as they were, Jaskier had a perfect view of Geralt, seated in front of the fire, hands gripping his thighs like his life depended on it. They didn't talk about this part. Jaskier wanted him to stay, yes, but was he supposed to get off to it? Is that what Jaskier wanted? Is that what Eskel wanted?

Reaching for the oil on the bedside table, Eskel caught Geralt's eye. They both looked at Jaskier. “Is this what you want?”

After a second of thought, Jaskier nodded. “I want him to watch me. _And_ ,” his eyes slid to the obvious bulge in Geralt's breeches, “I want that once you're done. Don't think you get to be lazy just because you have back up now.”

Geralt smirked, a low chuckle escaping his chest. He brushed the heel of his hand over his straining cock through the fabric of his breeches. Just enough to take the edge off. “Eskel's always had my back.”

“Fucking right.”

A new dynamic settled around Geralt, as he watched Eskel slide two fingers into Jaskier, his face contorting in pleasure, but it was an old dynamic as well. Eskel had his back, in training, during their trials, on a contract if he needed, and now with Jaskier, the insatiable human almost too much for Geralt's enhanced libido. It didn't happen often, but there was a time or two, after he finished a job and wanted to sleep for a week, but Jaskier had just finished a show and was buzzing with energy. If only he had Eskel then to sate Jaskier's lust...

Well, he had him now. And Jaskier was in good hands.

Eskel took his time finger Jaskier open. He wouldn't accept any excused about being “accustomed” to a Witcher. It was his first time with Jaskier—the first of many, he hoped—and he wasn't going to fuck it up by being too eager. With three of his thick fingers in his hole, Jaskier started to quake. “Please,” he grunted. “Fuck me already, I've waited all winter.”

“So have I,” Eskel whispered back. Jaskier laugh, the sound cut off by the head of Eskel's cock slowly spearing him open.

“F-fuck!” While he was about the same length and thickness as Geralt (every boy compared, it wasn't unusual) Eskel's cock had a fat head and Jaskier only appreciated the difference when it was trying to push inside of him. Eskel stilled for a moment and Jaskier growled. “Don't you dare stop.” The plump glans pushed past his rim and settled inside Jaskier. “Yes...”

So slow, the fucking snow probably started to melt, Eskel pushed inside Jaskier's tight heat. He wanted to savor the moment. With one oily hand steadying his cock, and the other on Jaskier's hip, he dropped his head to Jaskier's neck, breathing in the sex and sweat and other beautiful smells pouring off him. “Fuck,” he grunted in agreement.

Eskel didn't know who was shaking more, him or Jaskier, as he pushed in slowly until he felt that plush ass against him. Wrapping both arms around him, Eskel held him close for a moment, feeling the human heat and that human heart so close to him now... “Eskel,” Jaskier panted. “Fucking move.”

It was slow and tender and beautiful, Eskel worshiped Jaskier's body with his lips as he thrust in, slow, powerful pushes that he felt all over. Dropping a hand to his cock, it didn't take long to fall over the edge, his ass clenching around Eskel, bringing him over soon after. Geralt watched the whole show, licking his lips at the come covering Jaskier's hand.

He stood up and took off his clothes. Jaskier flailed a little. “I can do that.”

“No, you stay put.” Geralt climbed into bed, on top of Jaskier, just as Eskel rolled away. Licking over Jaskier's sweaty neck, he tasted Eskel there, a warmth spreading in his belly. His brother did his job well—satisfy the bard, make him feel warn and loved.

“Should I—” Less than coherent, Eskel didn't think his legs still worked after Jaskier's body squeezed around him, wringing every drop of come from his cock. But he'd leave, if that's what Geralt wanted.

“Stay,” Jaskier mumbled, capturing Geralt's lips.

Geralt nodded his agreement. “Yes. Stay... see if he needs to go again after.”

Eskel laughed and slumped at the end of the bed, close enough to reach out and touch Jaskier, but far enough to give Geralt space. Heavenly blue eyes looked over at him even as Geralt bit at his neck and Eskel knew he was in the right place. It seemed Jaskier's heart had more than enough room for both of them.

9.

By the end of winter, Eskel spent most nights in Geralt's room, Jaskier sandwiched between them. He woke in the night sometimes and reached out for them, grabbing and kissing whoever stirred first. “Does he do this a lot?” Eskel asked with a now sated Jaskier dozing on his chest, the bard's come drying on his fingers.

“Yes,” Geralt mumbled into the pillow. “It's like having a horny dog humping your leg every morning before sunrise until you feed him to make him go away.”

“I heard that,” Jaskier said, and curled closer to Eskel.

Even when they were both in the bed, Geralt and Eskel didn't touch, not like that. They'd brush shoulders as they passed Jaskier between them, maybe meet in the middle as they started kissing at opposite ends, but it was never like that with them, and Jaskier didn't expect it. “He has so much love to give,” Geralt whispered one night, Jaskier snoring between them. “Who am I to deny you what I have?”

“You make it sound so simple.” He trailed his fingers down Jaskier's chest, too firm to tickle. He wanted to feel that human heart pumping away, keeping Jaskier warm and rosy for them.

Geralt shrugged. “He makes a lot of things very simple. He makes other things very difficult.”

Winter was simple. Sharing a bed with Jaskier between him and Geralt, both of them focusing all their love and attention on a man so full of love himself. But The Path... that was always difficult. Eskel tried not to let his mind linger, but part of him wondered if this happiness so recently found might also exist out in the world.

Even after all they shared, he was too afraid to ask. At the end of winter, he said goodbye to Geralt and Jaskier, the question of what the fuck this was still gnawing at the back of his mind.

10.

Geralt wanted to camp. They didn't have enough gold for an inn, but the sudden downpour made the decision for him. With no cave or higher ground in sight, he stopped them in the next town, pushing Jaskier toward the inn while he took care of Roach.

The tavern was full to bursting with other travelers sheltering from the storm. He found Jaskier shivering by the fire, his clothes soaked through. They needed to get out of their wet things, but judging by all the other people hanging around, rooms might be in short supply. Huddling together in a tavern all night wasn't the best, maybe the stables were warmer...

“E-eskel,” Jaskier chattered, his whole body shaking from cold.

Geralt moved in closer, trying to share his body heat even as a few other patrons tried to push him away from the fire to get more room for themselves. “What?” Was Jaskier hallucinating now? He didn't think that came with hypothermia.

He pointed a shaking finger up the stairs, eyes suddenly bright. “Eskel!”

Geralt turned and saw Eskel at the top of the stairs, his armor gone for the night, only his tunic remaining. Did he have a room? He grabbed Jaskier and pulled him through the crowd. No one tried to stop them, especially since it meant there was more room by the fire now. Half way to the stairs, Eskel came down to meet them, pulling Jaskier into his arms.

The second his cold fingers touched his heated skin, he inhaled sharply. “What happened?”

“Sudden downpour,” Geralt said. “Tell me you have a room. I need to get him dry.”

“Yes, I have a room.” They hauled Jaskier up the stairs between them, their combined heat already thawing him out a little.

Eskel closed and bolted the door and turned to see Geralt place Jaskier in front of the fire. Without giving a care of his own soaking clothes, he stripped Jaskier, quietly shushing his shivering whines. “It'll be better when you're dry, I promise. Eskel, do you have an extra shirt?”

Producing an undershirt from his pack, Geralt forced it over Jaskier's head before pushing him into the bed. While Jaskier was broader than he looked, Eskel's muscles were more pronounced and the fabric sat on him like a tent. Still shivering, but now dry, Jaskier clutched the blankets and the shirt tight around himself.

With Jaskier taken care of, Geralt started taking off his wet clothes. “Strip down,” he called to Eskel. “Get in with him, keep him warm.”

Survival basics: sharing body heat. Eskel was out of his clothes in a second and had his arms wrapped around Jaskier the next. Freezing fingers latched onto him and Eskel almost jumped, but he pushed past the discomfort and wrapped Jaskier up tight, pressing his head against his chest. “You're alright,” he whispered. “Just a little rain.”

“Y-yeah, little rain,” Jaskier scoffed. “Why d-don't you go out in it?” He rubbed his face through Eskel's chest hair, warming his nose. The feeling started coming back to his fingers and toes and Jaskier sighed happily. “Actually, stay right here.”

“If Geralt says it's alright.” He looked over by the fire and found Geralt naked, wringing the water from his hair.

“I say it's alright.” Jaskier got somehow closer, pushing his whole face into Eskel's chest. “I missed you.”

“We both did.” Eskel jumped at Geralt's voice, suddenly so near. He lifted the thin bed covers and slid in behind Jaskier. The bed was tiny, barely big enough for Eskel and Jaskier together, but pressed close like they were, Geralt managed to fit. With all of them so close, Jaskier would warm up in no time.

A soft whisper of snoring soon drifted up between them and normal pink coloring returned to Jaskier's skin. He probably wasn't too bad to begin with, but the sudden storm spurred Geralt to quick action. Eskel smoothed a hand through Jaskier's hair before looking up and meeting eyes so like his own. “I wasn't sure if... I'm glad to help him.”

“Don't worry, you can fuck him when he wakes up. He'll probably insist.” Geralt dropped a kiss onto Jaskier's shoulder, his eyes never breaking away from Eskel. “We can talk about it more if you like, I think we reached an agreement last winter: I will not deny you his affections. I've shared much more with you.”

Eskel nodded, sniffing Jaskier's hair. Under the rain and road dirt, the scent of lavender and wood curled up at him, a familiar smell he missed so much after parting last winter. “Thank you, Geralt. For sharing him.”

He shrugged, eyes falling closed. “The other option was worse, watch you two pine after each other all winter.”

Jaskier woke before dawn, snugly warm between his Witchers. He reached out for Eskel first and while the bed fit them all for sleep, it didn't fit them for much else. Geralt lounged by the fire until Jaskier finished wringing moan after moan from Eskel's lips, taking his place when beckoned. Eskel stayed close for a few minutes before getting dressed and going to gather breakfast. When he returned, he found Jaskier waiting to jump into his arms, Geralt standing nearby going through their packs.

He didn't know how this came to be, how dreaming of Geralt's bard led to the man in his bed, but Eskel wasn't one to ask Destiny her intentions. The next winter, as soon as Geralt and Jaskier arrived, Geralt swept them all up to his room and let Eskel lose himself in soft lips and beautiful eyes, only taking over when Eskel was spent. They didn't talk about it more than necessary, it was just another level of their friendship, sharing their lives and sharing their love.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot of little flash backs and time slips in this. Sorry if that was awkward for anyone, like I said, I feel very off right now but since this story is about emotional uncertainty, jumbling things up a little gives it an interesting, uncertain feel... Yeah, that's what I'm going with.


End file.
